


just what the truth is (i can't say anymore)

by symphony7inAmajor



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Costume Parties & Masquerades, First Kiss, Love at First Sight, M/M, Modern Royalty, Non-Explicit Sex, Self Confidence Issues, Slow Dancing, aka nikolaj is sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2019-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-11 13:08:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,645
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20546669
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/symphony7inAmajor/pseuds/symphony7inAmajor
Summary: The invitation comes in March.This is what he gets for moving to the only city in Canada where the Crown Prince of Finland lives.(what could possibly go wrong?)





	just what the truth is (i can't say anymore)

**Author's Note:**

> there is SO much backstory here that i never get into so if you're curious about anything just hit me up... will plug my tumblr at the end as usual.
> 
> this was supposed to be GOOFY this was supposed to be a BREAK from emotionally fraught fic. i failed myself. 
> 
> nikolaj's character here 1. is lonely 2. is horny and 3. has some confidence issues
> 
> the deal with the invitations: they're distributed to any eligible people of the proper age group so nikolaj wasn't specially chosen. i know it's weird and unrealistic. get over it.
> 
> title from "nights in white satin" by the moody blues which i recommend listening to while you read this so [here](https://open.spotify.com/track/6L5BZEcZmD6RBJnimzlyKr?si=x18P0tsqQsGewUVEKTorjg)

The invitation comes in March.

Nikolaj gets home from work to find the creamy envelope in his mailbox, his name and address handwritten on the front. He steps into his apartment, never taking his eyes off the envelope. He can feel it and see it, but he still can’t really believe it’s real.

Objectively, he knew this might happen one day. After all, most eligible young people are invited to events like this. It’s all a load of nonsense anyway, in Nikolaj’s opinion--who’s going to find the person they want to marry in one night. He tosses the envelope on the table and frowns at it.

This is what he gets for moving to the only city in Canada where the Crown Prince of Finland lives. 

He tries to ignore the envelope and make himself some supper, but he can’t resist. Later that evening, he curls onto the couch in sweats and picks along the edge of the sealed envelope. A sheet of glossy paper falls into his lap.

The first thing he sees is the seal of the royal family, stamped boldly into the corner of the page. He studies the lion and wonders briefly why he was chosen, how anyone could think that a Danish hockey journalist with a bad knee barely scraping by on his tiny paychecks would make a suitable match for the future king of Finland.

He can’t even speak Finnish.

At least the invitation is in English. He reads it carefully, noting once again that the entire thing has been written in neat handwriting. It requests that he attend the masquerade ball on the prince’s birthday in April. Nikolaj tightens his grip around the edges of the paper, watching it bend and warp before easily returning to its proper shape.

Nikolaj puts the invitation on his fridge and forgets about it.

At least, he tries to. It’s hard to ignore when it’s all he sees every day when he’s in his kitchen, but he’s hardly obsessed. He’s never seen the prince, since he’s notoriously private. That might explain the masquerade ball. Maybe he’s grown up to be, like, super ugly and doesn’t want anyone to be turned off before they can get to know him.    


Still, by the time April rolls around and Nikolaj remembers that the ball is only a week away, he decides he may as well go. After all, he’s not making so much money that he’s willing to turn his nose up at free food. 

The night before the ball—god, that sounds so archaic—Nikolaj finds himself dusting off the only suit he owns, the one he bought a couple years ago for Sebastian’s wedding. He got a decent mask at a costume shop, the red and silver as close as he could get to the Danish colours. 

He tries it on again back at his apartment, studying himself in the mirror. The mask covers his eyes and nose, and the edges sweep up into carefully crafted silver wings. He can barely see his eyes through the shadows. Nikolaj takes the mask off and looks at it, running a thumb over the feathers. 

Wearing this mask, going to a royal ball—it all feels so  _ fake.  _ He feels like a fraud, with the beautiful mask and his old, ill-fitting suit. Nobody’s going to look at him twice tomorrow, least of all the prince, unless they’re wondering if he snuck in or not.

Nikolaj takes a deep breath, closing his eyes and telling himself he’ll be fine. He can go in, tolerate a few stares, get some food and get out without any lasting damage. Maybe he’ll even make conversation with some rich people and not look like an idiot. He opens his eyes and looks at his own face in the mirror again. He shrugs at his reflection.

What’s the worst that could happen?

* * *

Nikolaj splurges and takes a taxi to the ball. It’s being held at an old hotel on the outskirts of town, and it’s raining hard enough that he doesn’t think the bus would be a good idea. The hotel is brightly lit when the taxi pulls up as close as it can—Nikolaj notices a stretch limo in front of the door and a white sports car that probably costs more than Nikolaj’s entire building pulls up smoothly behind it.

Is it too late to turn back?

Nikolaj turns to see the taxi driving away. He realizes after too long that he’s still standing in the rain and he hurries inside, tugging his mask over his face and pulling the folded invitation out of his pocket.

He tries to hide his scowl when he sees people climbing out of their expensive cars to be escorted inside by their drivers, shielded from the rain by their umbrellas. Then he remembers that he doesn’t need to pretend he’s not scowling, and furrows his brow behind the mask. Maybe he won’t bother trying to talk to any of these people after all.

A security guard studies his invitation longer than he does for any of the others, until Nikolaj flashes his ID to prove he is who he says. The guard shrugs and lets him in, but the back of Nikolaj’s neck burns as eyes turn to follow him. 

He ducks into the crowd gathered in the ballroom and tries to make his way to the buffet tables. Twisting around dancers, dodging gesticulating arms and almost knocking down a waiter carrying a platter of champagne, Nikolaj feels incredibly, profoundly out of his depth. He presses a hand to the side of his face to keep the mask from being knocked off. 

If he survives this, he is never going to any more royal balls.

Hah. As if he’s ever going to be invited to another. 

Finally, Nikolaj finds the food, trays piled high with things that he doesn't even know the names for. Picking up a bread roll, because those are hard to mess up, Nikolaj studies the rest of the food curiously. He nibbles at the bread and his eyes widen in surprise. It’s  _ delicious. _

“Holy shit,” he mumbles around his mouthful, and tears off some more before he’s even finished swallowing the first bite.

“You might want to slow down,” someone says mildly. Nikolaj spins around and comes face to face—or rather, face to chest, since this guy is  _ really _ tall—with a man in a blue and gold mask. His mask is simple enough, deep blue with a few golden accents along the edge. Nikolaj can just barely see the glint of his eyes. His blond hair is pale enough to be nearly white.

His suit fits perfectly.

Nikolaj wrinkles his nose and chews his bread as belligerently as possible. The guy’s mouth curves into a smile, and he snorts. 

“Very classy,” he says. He reaches one long arm around Nikolaj and picks up his own piece of bread, close enough that Nikolaj catches the scent of his cologne. He stiffens slightly and the guy steps back to eat his bread. 

He chews it much more slowly than Nikolaj.

“So,” Nikolaj says, when the man stays beside the tables to watch the crowd with him. The guy glances over. “You having a good time?”

“It’s okay.” The man shrugs. “I didn’t really want to come, but my parents said I had to at least try.” He bumps his elbow against Nikolaj’s arm. “You?”

“I think it’s stupid,” Nikolaj says bluntly and the guy barks a surprised laugh. “I’m serious! Does anyone really think they can fall in love in a few hours without even knowing each other’s names?” He rolls his eyes.

The guy in the blue mask grins at him.

“That’s exactly what I told my parents,” he agrees. “I mean, I doubt I’d want to spend my life with someone I met at a party like this.”

Nikolaj thinks back to the expensive cars, the spotless shoes, the hired drivers, and he nods. He finishes off his bread roll and scuffs his shoe awkwardly against the floor. It’s getting too crowded in here and he’s starting to feel antsy. He glances around nervously, wondering if it’d be too cowardly to go hide in the bathroom, then the guy in the blue mask touches his shoulder to catch his attention.

“Do you want to go outside?” he asks. “I know a nice spot in the gardens if you want to get some air.”

“Isn’t it raining?” Nikolaj asks, but he lets the man lead him through the crowd and out the French doors.

It is still raining, but not so heavily as before and the man takes his hand to lead him down the winding stone paths. Nikolaj tries to keep his balance on the slippery stones, his leather shoes not made for outdoor excursions like this and his knee stiff from the damp air. 

“Here,” says the guy, leading him towards a wooden gazebo. It’s tucked away in the corner of the hotel gardens, the paint chipped and peeling but the roof still intact. Nikolaj steps out of the rain and takes off his jacket, dropping it carelessly onto one of the benches.

He places his hands on the railing and looks back towards the hotel. He wonders if the prince is in there. The music only just carries this far and Nikolaj closes his eyes to focus on it.

“This is better,” he says, finally turning around. The guy in the blue mask has taken off his suit jacket too, and Nikolaj’s eyes catch on his broad shoulders, his strong chest. His throat works and he thinks the guy watches the movement before looking back up at his face. “How’d you know it was here?” he asks, trying to distract himself.

“I’ve been here before,” the man says, which isn’t really much of an explanation. He sits on one of the benches, legs sprawled in front of him. Nikolaj’s mouth feels dry when he sees the way his pants stretch out over his thighs. 

Instead of getting to his knees between his legs like part of Nikolaj wants to, he sits beside the man. He’s just close enough that he can feel the guy’s body heat through their shirts. He feels chilled despite the shelter and wishes he could press closer, getting under the guy’s arm and curling close to his chest.

Which is, of course, absurd. Nikolaj doesn’t even know his name, his job, his age, he doesn’t even know what this guy  _ looks like, _ so he’s just being stupid. Still, there’s something about this guy that makes Nikolaj feel  _ safe. _

The song changes again, this time the band playing something slow and heavy on strings. Nikolaj lets the soft sound of the violins wash over him, the raindrops tapping on the roof providing quiet background noise. 

“Hey,” Nikolaj says, and works up his courage when the guy turns to look at him. He bites his lip nervously and stands up, then holds out a hand. “Do you want to dance?” He can feel his heart thump once, twice.

“Sure.” The guy takes his hand and stands up, his mouth tilted into a smile. His hands are big, warm despite the cool air. He rests his other hand on Nikolaj’s waist.

“I don’t really know how to dance,” Nikolaj admits, trying to resist the urge to press his fingers harder against the guy’s shoulder, see if the muscle is as hard as it looks. Instead, he curls his hand loosely against his shoulder and tilts his head to look up. “I haven’t slow danced since high school.” Even at Sebastian’s wedding, he had spent most of his time hanging around the bar and nursing his drink rather than trying to find someone to dance with. 

“That’s okay.” The guy starts to lead him in careful movements, nudging his feet in the right directions as they move through the gazebo. “I had lessons, but I’m not very good."

Nikolaj laughs, surprised.

“Lessons?” he asks. “Who has slow dance lessons?” He rubs his thumb over the man’s shoulder so he knows Nikolaj is only teasing.

“Don’t be mean,” the man says, squeezing Nikolaj’s waist. “My parents made me go.” 

Nikolaj shrugs, careful not to dislodge the man’s hands, so hot through his shirt and against his palm.

“I guess you’ve got a better chance than me,” Nikolaj says softly. His voice is low, but they’re so close together now that the man hears him anyway.

“At what?” Nikolaj shivers as the man rubs his thumb over his ribs.

“You know,” Nikolaj says, trying to ignore it, “getting engaged to anyone at a place like this.” 

Nikolaj very pointedly tries to forget that this man is not here for the same reasons as him, that he’s here because his family wants him to marry the prince, that  _ he  _ probably wants to marry the prince. Not to dance in a gazebo with someone that he would probably never look at twice anywhere else.

“I don’t want  _ anyone.” _ The man’s voice is barely louder than a whisper. Nikolaj notices how close their faces are. He swallows hard.

“Everybody’s here for the same reason,” Nikolaj says, unconsciously keeping his own voice low to match the mood the man in the blue mask has set. 

“Not you,” he says. “You’re different. You’re  _ special.” _

“I’m really not,” Nikolaj says with a laugh, pushing down the fluttery feeling in his belly. “I’m nobody. Everyone here is,” he searches for the words, “important.”

Very abruptly, the man in the blue mask stops dancing and takes Nikolaj’s shoulders in his hands. 

“Don’t say that,” he says, his voice intense. “Just because you’re not fucking  _ royalty _ doesn’t mean you’re not important.” Nikolaj’s mouth drops open in shock. He’s totally lost for words.

“I just meant, I’m not, uh,” Nikolaj breaks off and looks down. His chest feels tight and his ears burn with embarrassment. He knows he isn’t important compared to any of the people here, especially this man with his perfectly fitted suit, fine mask and parents who made him attend dance lessons. He clenches his jaw, letting his hands fall back to his sides. Not sure what to do with them now, he fiddles anxiously with his fingernails.

“I know,” the man says. He fits his fingers under Nikolaj’s chin, tipping his head back so Nikolaj has to look at him. “That’s why I’d rather be here with you, instead of in there with them.”

Nikolaj instinctively fists his hands into the man’s shirt. He’s not  _ stupid. _

“I don’t even know your name,” Nikolaj murmurs, stepping a little closer. “You don’t even know  _ my  _ name.”

“Do you trust me?” The man in the blue mask cups Nikolaj’s cheek, brushing his thumb just under Nikolaj’s mask. Nikolaj nods shakily. He’s only just met this guy but, god help him, he does trust him. “Then it’s alright,” the man says, and he leans down to kiss Nikolaj softly.

Nikolaj shivers at the first touch, electricity sparking under his skin. He tightens his hands in the man’s shirt, trying to get closer and accidentally knocks the man off balance. They stumble a bit and the guy manages to sit down on the bench, laughing a little. Nikolaj grins, blushing under his mask.

“Sorry,” he says.

The guy doesn’t reply, simply reaching out and pulling Nikolaj into his lap to kiss him again. Nikolaj can feel the way his lips are curved into a small smile against his own mouth. Unsteady, Nikolaj plants his knees firmly into the rough wood of the bench and grips the guy’s shoulders. He feels hands around his hips, holding him tight.

For a moment, Nikolaj feels almost like he doesn’t know himself. He’s never been the guy to hook up with nameless strangers, but there is nothing unfamiliar about the way this guy touches him. Nikolaj wants to do this forever. Then the guy pulls him closer and Nikolaj’s doubts disappear.

Nikolaj grumbles as the guy moves back, but then his mouth is hot against Nikolaj’s throat, nipping at the soft skin there before pressing gentle kisses to the marks. One of his hands moves from Nikolaj’s hip to tangle in his hair, using his grip to tilt his head the way he wants it.

“Fuck,” Nikolaj hears him say. It takes him a second to pull himself out of the haze he’s in. The guy nudges his nose under Nikolaj’s jaw, the rough material of the mask scraping against his skin. Nikolaj doesn’t move, just listens to the sound of the guy’s ragged breathing as he tries to collect himself a little. The guy moves just enough to press a sweet kiss to the soft spot on Nikolaj’s throat, making him shiver. “You’re so….” The guy trails off to kiss Nikolaj again.

For a moment, Nikolaj loses himself in it, sweaty hands slipping uselessly against the man’s shirt, then he pulls back. He tries to catch his breath, his hands shifting over the guy’s neck, his jaw, anywhere he can reach skin. He swallows hard, throat working. 

“I’m what,” Nikolaj asks, still out of breath. He licks his lips and part of him wonders if it’s possible to give someone a blowjob while wearing a mask. 

The guy thumbs at Nikolaj’s lips.

“You’re beautiful,” he says.

Nikolaj ducks his head, flushing. 

“You don’t even know what I look like,” he tries, his heart hammering in his chest.

One big hand flattens against his chest, gently pushing until he leans back a little. 

“I don’t have to,” says the man in the blue mask, and the warmth in his voice curls into Nikolaj’s chest and drives away the last of the cold. 

“Oh,” is all Nikolaj can say. Moving carefully, he winds his arms around the guy’s shoulders and curls against him, resting his head on his shoulder. He can feel the man’s heartbeat against his own, and he breathes out slowly. The sound comes out shivery and lets the guy hold him close. Nikolaj rubs his cheek against the guy’s shoulder before sitting up again. His laces his fingers together behind the guy’s neck, fiddling with the soft blond hair. “Kiss me again?” he asks, his voice small and nervous.

Time seems to stretch and slow when they kiss again. They move together with none of their earlier desperation. Nikolaj feels almost as though he is underwater, drifting, no tether except the man in the blue mask’s hands on his waist to keep him from floating away.

Nikolaj should have known better than to think that nothing was going to go wrong.

He’s moved his hands from the man’s neck up into his hair, blond strands wound around his fingers. When the guy shifts his weight on the bench, the movement catches Nikolaj off guard and wobbles, instinctively grasping at whatever he can reach so he doesn’t fall on his ass.

It happens to be the guy’s blue mask.

He catches the strap at the back of his head with his fingers, accidentally jerking it down. The guy winces and pulls it all the way down so he doesn’t scratch his eye, and the apology dies on Nikolaj’s tongue because—

“I can explain,” says the prince.

“You—” Nikolaj shakes his head and scrambles off his lap, stumbling back. His knee cramps at the abrupt motion and he catches himself on the railing. “I didn’t—”

Nikolaj hasn’t seen any recent pictures of the prince, but he hasn’t changed so much in the last couple years that he can’t recognize  _ Patrik Laine.  _

“Wait,” Patrik blurts, holding a hand out to Nikolaj. “I’m sorry, I should’ve told you. Please don’t go.” Nikolaj watches him swallow hard. “Please, let me explain.”

Nikolaj shakes his head, taking a step backwards and ignoring the pain in his leg. 

“I can’t,” Nikolaj says, his voice cracking. “I can’t—you don’t want—”  _ me,  _ he almost says but he cuts himself off and turns around, limping as fast as he can back the way he came. 

The rain has soaked his shirt by the time he gets back inside. Nikolaj ignores the stares of other guests, all his focus on not crying in front of them. He makes it out of the hotel and into the parking lot. Patrik hasn’t come after him. 

As soon as the hotel is behind him, Nikolaj pulls off his mask and lets it drop to the ground. It falls into a puddle.

Nikolaj fumbles for his phone, his hands shaky and wet from rain. It’s not in any of his pockets. Then he remembers—his jacket. He left his jacket in the garden. 

He hesitates, looking over his shoulder at the brightly lit hotel. He even takes a step towards it, but he  _ can’t. _

Alone, cold and wet, Nikolaj starts walking home. About halfway back, he becomes grateful for the rain. At least the drops hide the tears on his cheeks. 

It takes too long for Nikolaj to get back to his apartment. Finally, he stumbles inside and strips out of his soaking clothes. He wants to fall into bed for a week, but his skin is cold and clammy and he can’t stop shivering. Turning up the heat so the water is steaming, Nikolaj steps into the shower and stands under the water until his skin is red and he doesn’t feel so cold anymore. 

When he crawls into bed at last, exhausted, he feels a terrible creeping cold deep inside his chest. No matter how tightly he curls into himself, it won’t go away. 

Nikolaj squeezes his eyes shut against the stinging feeling behind them and tries to fall asleep before the tears can fall again.

It doesn’t work.

* * *

Nikolaj wakes up stiff the next morning, his knee aching with the kind of sharp pain that he hasn’t felt since that first year after his surgery. 

He manages to limp out of bed to get dressed in sweats and scrub his face with cold water before he gets his computer and sits on the couch, eating a piece of plain toast.

Searching for Patrik’s social media doesn’t really help. His last tweet is from a year ago and it’s in Finnish. His Instagram hardly has anything on it, either. Nikolaj bites his lip. He  _ does _ need his phone back. He can’t afford to buy a new one right now, but he doesn’t know if he can face Patrik again. 

Patrik could probably send a servant to do it or something. 

Nikolaj chews at his cuticles, considering his options. He notices the Instagram post of Patrik and his sister, Patrik’s arm around her shoulders. Nikolaj can’t help but remember the way Patrik’s arms had felt around him, how safe it made him feel.

He slams the laptop shut.

Breathing hard, Nikolaj stares at the wall, unblinking. He rubs his palms against his thighs before digging his fingers into the muscle as hard as he can to snap himself out of his funk.

“Get over it,” Nikolaj tells himself. Easier said than done.

He turns on the TV, trying to distract himself. There’s nothing on, really, the same old shitty reality TV shows and reruns. He’s about to turn it off and try to go back to sleep when his doorbell rings.

Nikolaj steps out of his apartment and limps down the stairs, bracing himself to tell the salesperson that he is  _ not  _ interested in subscribing to their service, thank you, and he takes a deep breath as he opens the door, and—

“Please don’t leave,” Patrik says. Nikolaj stares at him like an idiot, his mouth open in shock. Patrik holds something out in one hand. It’s Nikolaj’s phone. Hesitantly, Nikolaj reaches out and takes it, holding it close to his chest. Patrik hasn’t looked away from Nikolaj’s face yet. “Can we talk?” Patrik asks. Now that it’s daytime, Nikolaj can see the desperate expression on Patrik’s face, half-hidden beneath a veneer of cool. 

Nikolaj expects that his attempted cool is more for the benefit of anyone else who might see him, and not for Nikolaj himself. 

“Okay,” Nikolaj says quietly. He turns and drags himself back up the stairs, leaning heavily on the banister.

Something warm touches his elbow and he turns to see Patrik, a couple stairs below him. He’s reached out to take Nikolaj’s arm. His expression changes and he looks hesitant, drawing his hand back.

“Sorry,” he says. Nikolaj shrugs and leads him back into his apartment. 

“So,” Nikolaj says, sitting in the center of the couch so Patrik has to sit in the old armchair, “talk.”

“I wanted to apologize,” Patrik says. He looks earnestly at Nikolaj. “I shouldn’t have let things go that far without telling you who I am.”

“Why didn’t you?” Nikolaj says. 

“I don’t know,” Patrik says. He closes his eyes and rubs his hands over his face. “Maybe it was because you didn’t know me. Everyone else in there treated anyone who even kind of looked like me as though they were a prince. You just—you didn’t care who I was.” He looks down, studying his hands like they’ll be able to tell him something. 

“I cared,” Nikolaj says, “I wanted to know you, I wanted—” He stops, swallows, tries again. “I never imagined that you would be a prince,” he says. “I’m just. I’m just  _ me.” _ He gestures at his sparsely decorated apartment. 

“Nikolaj,” Patrik says, and Nikolaj blinks in surprise, even though the fact that Patrik figured out his name while he had his phone shouldn’t be  _ that _ shocking. Patrik licks his lips. “Nikolaj, that’s why I like you so much.” Patrik stands up and steps closer to the couch, then crouches in front of Nikolaj. Patrik reaches out and brushes his fingers alone Nikolaj’s cheek, the exact spot where the line of the mask had been last night. Nikolaj shivers.

“Patrik,” Nikolaj says helplessly. Patrik takes Nikolaj’s hands in his own, rubbing his thumbs over Nikolaj’s knuckles. 

“I know I fucked up,” Patrik says, “but can we try?” Nikolaj doesn’t know what he means. “Can I take you out like a normal person?” Patrik asks. “On a real date? Maybe later we can do the, you know,” Patrik presses his thumb against the fourth finger of Nikolaj’s left hand, “but I can wait.” He grins crookedly so Nikolaj knows he’s joking, but there’s a question behind it that Nikolaj doesn’t miss.

Nikolaj thinks he could fall in love with that smile.

Then he thinks maybe he already has.

His answer comes easily enough after that.

“Yes,” Nikolaj blurts. “I want that.” 

Patrik relaxes, shoulders dropping in relief. Nikolaj hadn’t realized how tense he was. He lifts a hand and cups Nikolaj’s cheek.

“Can I kiss you?” he whispers, eyes searching and bright on Nikolaj’s. 

Nikolaj can only nod.

Patrik leans up slowly, giving Niakolaj time to change his mind, then Nikolaj’s eyes slip shut as their lips touch and he curls his hands around Patrik’s shoulders to pull him closer. Patrik climbs onto the couch with him, never breaking the kiss, and touches Nikolaj so sweetly and gently that Nikolaj thinks he might burst. 

No matter how hard Nikolaj tries to make Patrik go faster, he always tugs Nikolaj back, slows him down. Patrik keeps him grounded, keeps him safe.

Patrik stays mostly quiet until the end, and he gasps a soft _ Nikolaj  _ against Nikolaj’s skin, like a brand. Like a promise, maybe.

Patrik stays with him for the rest of the day, never far from his side. 

When he joins Nikolaj in bed that night, pulling him close, Nikolaj feels warmth spread through his chest like a bright flame.

He laces his fingers through Patrik’s where his hand rests on Nikolaj’s stomach. He drifts off to sleep with a smile on his lips and Patrik’s hand in his.

**Author's Note:**

> they DO get married and they DO live happily ever after, i promise.
> 
> [tumblr](https://symphony7inamajor.tumblr.com)


End file.
